


Brother, Fear Not

by BatmanofGotham



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Alternate Universe - Time Travel, But that's because of different upbringings, Grey/Dark Harry Potter, Harrison Riddle is twin to Tom Riddle, He remembers eventually, Kinda out of character, Master of Death Harry Potter, other characters to be added - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-18
Updated: 2018-08-14
Packaged: 2018-12-31 05:30:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12125568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BatmanofGotham/pseuds/BatmanofGotham
Summary: It was on the 31st of December, 1926. An oddly dressed woman staggered into the small town, blind with pain and heartbreak and heavy with child. Two, actually.This woman was Merope Riddle.Harry Potter is born again.





	1. Prelude

**Author's Note:**

> There are some differences than canon that I've made deliberately, such as ages and locations.

 

December 31st, 1926.

 

An oddly dressed woman staggered into the small town, blind with pain and heartbreak and heavy with child. She gasps for breath, a hand on her enormously pregnant belly as she surveys the surrounding area. The sky was dark, wind blowing hard, but not far away, there was an orphanage. Wool’s Orphanage was run down, perhaps, but still a place of sanctuary. She stumbled there, banging on the door before sliding down in pain, brow cold with sweat. The orphanage matron, Ms. Cole, opened the door. She was skinny and harassed-looking, with a sharp face, but by no means a cruel woman, and she could tell that the poor young woman needed her help. 

 

“Please…help me. I’m Merope Riddle…” The young woman gasped, “I…I think I’m giving birth.” Mrs. Cole frowned slightly at the responsibility that was abruptly thrust into her hands but nevertheless led Merope indoors. 

 

“Elizabeth! There’s a woman in labor!” Mrs. Cole called down the hall as she ushered the woman to the cramped room that passed for an infirmary. Merope followed her, eyes wide with panic before she stumbled and fell onto the small, dirty bed, gasping in pain. A woman, presumably Elizabeth, with kind features and wrinkles around her eyes rushed into the room with clean water and rags. 

 

A particularly strong contraction forced a scream from Meroe. “Breathe, Ms. In, out, in, out.” Elizabeth smiled encouragingly from where she was between Merope’s legs, trying to usher the child of her beloved Tom and herself out into the world. Mrs. Cole was wiping the sweat off Merope’s forehead, holding her hand encouragingly.

 

Muggle women. Her father despised them, lips always curling in disgust as he called them filth, scum, mudbloods. Yet, they had taken her in while her own kind despised her. Muggles who were helping her, showing her kindness where there had been none with her family. 

 

Maybe…Maybe if she had been a muggle, Tom would have continued to love her. 

 

…

 

The muffled sound of a woman screaming in pain, along with the dull sense of pushing accompanies the child once known as Harry Potter in the warm, comforting darkness. He reached out with one hand, and another grasped his. Of course, as he was but an infant, he did not know what this meant.  A particularly violent spasm forced him out of the darkness. The aforementioned woman pants, and he’s lifted up. He faintly feels a cloth wiping him clean, and shivers in the cold. He’s placed in his mother’s arms. 

 

Soon, he is not alone. 

 

…

 

“It’s a healthy boy, Miss. Here.” Elizabeth tells her, smiling gently. She wipes the child clean and places the child in her arms, where he immediately begins suckling. 

 

He was strong, survival instinct already kicking in, just like what a Gaunt should be. 

 

Before she can say a word, another contraction hits, and Mrs. Cole gasps in surprise. “Goodness! Another one. You have twins!” Seconds later, another small weight settles on her chest. 

 

She weakly smiles down on her…their children. “The first…Hadrian Achemor Riddle. Tell him, tell him it’s what his father wanted him to be named.”

 

Merope remembered the blissful time that she had spent with Tom when they had first married. It was during that time when Tom told her how if he had a son, he would call him Hadrian, Harry as a nickname. Her beloved Tom had sat on the bench in the Riddle Manor Garden, watching the sunset with her. “Hadrian was a Roman emperor. Harry is the Middle English form of Henry, which is in turn derived from Heinrich - ‘heim’ means home, and ‘ric’ means power or ruler.” 

 

She had smiled up at him as he continued animatedly. “It’s also a diminutive form of Harold, from the Old English name _Hereweald,_ leader of the army.” Tom had turned to her then, “It’s a strong, powerful name, fit for a king. Or for our son.” They had watched the sunset, painting the sky a beautiful blend of orange and reds in comfortable silence. 

 

“…ope? Merope?” Merope was awakened from her daze from the rough hands of Elizabeth gently pushing her. “Your second son?” She prompted.

 

“Thomas..Marvolo Riddle.” Merope managed to get out. “His…father’s name and my father’s.”

 

Merope remembered a time when Tom loved with her. When they had laid in their bed with her head on his chest. How he would laugh in delight as he caressed her stomach and felt the kick of her child. When she closed her eyes, Merope could still feel the phantom touch of his hands on her stomach.

 

Merope seized Mrs. Cole’s hand, fueled by sudden desperation. “Tell…them. Please.” At Mrs. Cole’s nod, she sighed and sank back into the bed, closing her eyes as if she was taking a nap. 

 

…

 

On that day, Death stood, undetected, in that small, dirty room. He looked down at his young master, reaching out with one skeletal hand to caress the face of the infant. Harry gurgled with delight. Death smiled an eerie smile.

 

At that moment, Merope Riddle exhaled...and did not inhale ever again.  

 

Harry and Tom grew into young children in that cold, dark orphanage. 

 

 


	2. You Can Run

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry had first learned of death when he hung Billy Stubbs’ rabbit from the rafters. He had felt the faint brush of a skeletal hand on his face and heard the whisper of wind through the rafters that sounded like laughter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: There is some violent content
> 
> Also, I edited the previous chapter pretty drastically, so you should probably read that one again.

They were two when they cried for parents that were not there, parents that should have loved them.

 

…

 

Harry was three when he first found the snake. He was making himself comfortable underneath the large sycamore with Tom sleeping beside him when irritated hissing reached his ears.

 

“Ssstupid children…” Harry had whirled around to find a small corn snake curled in a hollow in the tree. She hissed at him again, “Ssscram!” Harry had tilted his head curiously as he addressed the snake, fascinated by the snake’s beautiful red scales and coiled body, “What’s your name? Can I touch you?” The snake had reared in surprise but quickly settled back, “I have no name. But you can ssscratch my back. Gently.”

Tom had woken up, curious at the odd conversation happening without him. “Can you bite Jamie?”

 

They had brought Snake back to their room that day.

 

…

 

Harry and Tom were four when Mrs Cole found Snake nestled in Tom’s bed. They had stared together at the red splattered all over the window. They had buried the half of Snake they could find underneath the sycamore, where they had first met.

 

…

 

They were six when Billy Stubbs, a large child of the age of ten, first approached Harry and Tom.

 

"Oi, orphan boy.." Billy Stubbs sneered. Tom closed his book, setting the large volume gently down under the massive tree. "As I seem to recall, you are an orphan as well, Stubbs." Billy faltered, obviously not expecting the quiet boy to talk back to him.

 

Billy stepped forward, lifting his chin. "Well, my parents died to protect me in the war."

"A sacrifice not very well thought through. " Harry dropped from the tree branch above their heads, landing in front of his brother. Dennis Bishop, Billy's best friend, pushed Billy out of the way after it was clear the other boy didn't know what to respond to the insult. His face looked to be a rather unflattering shade of puce. "Well," Bishop said, scrunching his face in an attempt to remember the conversation that Mrs Cole and Elizabeth had, "His parents loved each other, and they loved him."  Harry crossed his arms, silently inviting Bishop to say more. Dennis gladly obliged, mouth twisted cruelly.

"Your mother was a circus worker. You both are bastards, born out of wedlock," Bishop announced gleefully. "Not so royal now, are you?" Tom interrupted then, pushing past his brother in a cold rage. "She was not! Take it back!" Billy Stubbs seemed to have found his voice once more, hatred strong in his eyes.

“You killed Mummy! Daddy was never there! Nobody wants you!"

Mrs. Cole looked on from the front porch to see Billy Stubbs and his friends roughhousing with the Riddle brothers. She decided to leave it; boys will boys, and the Riddle twins had always unnerved her. They looked at each other as if they had a shared secret that nobody else was allowed to know. It...annoyed her.

 

…

Harry had first learned of death when he hung Billy Stubbs’ rabbit from the rafters. He had felt the faint brush of a skeletal hand on his face and heard the whisper of wind through the rafters that sounded like laughter.

…

 

Tom was seven when Amy Benson arrived. She was three years older than Tom was, and had taken it upon herself to follow Tom around the entire orphanage. She would not leave Tom alone, not even for reading as she yammered on and on about some mundane thing she had done that day. He could not take it any longer.

 

“Leave me alone, Benson. If you are as desperate for attention as you seem, go and talk to Bishop. I’m sure he can give you some pointers.” Tom hissed as he looked the foolish girl dead in the eye.Amy had looked at him in despair as she wailed, “Don’t make fun of me, Tom! I want to be your friend!”

 

“It would be pointless to make fun of you because it would take you the rest of the day to figure it out.” Tom scoffed. He turned on his heel and left Amy standing alone in the hall.

 

“Amy, are you alright?” Harry had called to her as she rushed by in the garden, wiping the tears off her face. She turned around, still sniffling a little, to where children were surrounding Harry, with even one on his lap and tugging on his wild curls.

 

Seeing her tears, Harry had gently asked the kids to go and play elsewhere. Amy had sat down next to Harry and told him everything. Harry listened, offered her a handkerchief for her to wipe her tears in, and appeared deeply apologetic for his brother’s actions.

 

Amy just _knew_ she had gained a friend that day.

 

…

 

 

Tom was eight when he first learned hate; how to hate others, and how others would hate him.

 

“Hey, look at that stupid moron!” Billy sneered at Tom, who was sitting under the large sycamore tree and quietly reading. Tom closed his book and stood up, still leaning against the tree. Harry and most of the orphanage were in town this time for haircuts. Nobody would be around to stop the aptly nicknamed horrible trio.

 

“The phrase that you uttered is redundant.” Tom corrected, irritated at the unprovoked interruption, “If you’re going to insult me, at least do it accurately. I would hate that you went all the way to learn a two-syllable word just for you to use it incorrectly.”

“Ha! You’re hilarious.” Dennis, Billy’s best friend, grinned uncertainly, “You know, I do think we should show them exactly how hilarious we think they are,” He remarked, towering over Tom.Philip Daniels ripped the book from Tom’s hands. Tom’s eyes gleamed with pure loathing; it had taken him half an hour just to convince the librarian, a sceptical old hag, that he was not a thief and that he would return the book. 

 

“Give. It. Back!” He growled hatefully. Philip began to rip out the pages of the book. “What are you gonna do, huh? Hit me with your book? Oh, wait. I have your book.”It was a stupid, meaningless remark but the trio still broke into fits of laughter as if it was the funniest thing they ever heard. Tom eyed the pale pages of his book as they fluttered to the ground. ‘I’ll show them how funny I think they are.’ He thought, raising dark eyes to the spot that Philip’s hand was connected to the book, now too damaged to be read again. A spark flew, and suddenly the book was burning in Philip’s hand.

 

Philip jumped back in pain, hissing and cradling his injured hand. He raised wild eyes to his friends. “You all saw that, right? The freak started the fire!” They all glared at their future victim who glared back coldly, although he was dancing with the victory on the inside.

 

"Alright boys," Dennis cackled, rolling up his sleeves, "Let's show Riddle the Freak how it's done around here."

 

“Freak! Freak! Freak!” Billy and Philip laughed, like a gang of hyenas closing in for the kill.

 

Their eyes gleamed and Dennis moved before Tom could even see, meet fist crashing into Tom’s abdomen like a hammer. Tom crashed into the tree, crying out in pain before quickly clamping his mouth shut. Weakness would only encourage them.Fists began plummeting Tom’s body. There was nothing he could do as the pain was distracting him from being able to use his powers. All he could do was curl his body to present a smaller target. 

 

"Not so strong now, are you? Freak?" Dennis laughed.

 

"Freak, freak, freak." The other boys chorused.

 

"Riddle the Freak!"

He could do…nothing. He wasn’t strong enough. The pain increased until he could bear it no more and let the tears roll down his face. His vision blurred, and he dug his nails into his palm until it bled in an effort to ground himself. Finally, blessedly, they stopped. One of them nudged him over with a foot. “Freak, you alive?”

 

Tom turned to face them with difficulty, eyes narrowed and cold. “I hate you.” He whispered darkly.

 

"He's alive. Let's go before Mrs Cole comes back.” Billy said, eyeing the orphanage gates apprehensively.

 

“Watch your back, freak.”

 

With those last words, the trio left.Tom lay curled beneath the large tree, the taste of metal in his mouth, arm throbbing painfully and purple bruises forming on his body. With some effort, he turned to face the orphanage. The last thing he saw was the face of Amy Benson staring at him through her window, an odd glint of something like pleasure in her eyes. 

 

...

 

Sometimes, Harry would picture what it might feel like to hang the cold, stiff bodies of his brother’s tormentors from the rafters of the orphanage.

 


	3. Ain't No Rest for the Wicked

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The beginnings of Voldemort as a childhood fantasy for being different, a rudimentary imperio and an obliviate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Detailed violence

They were nine when Tom became unsatisfied with his own name. It was a gloomy afternoon. Tom had been lying on the bed of their shared room, staring upside-down at his brother who was absently doodling a large black dog, a jagged lightning bolt, and an oddly shaped hat.

 

“Don’t you ever feel like you want another name?”

 

Harry didn’t look up from his rendition of a man on a broomstick. “What would you have your name changed to, then? Timothy? Daniel?” Tom turned around, blinking away the dizziness.

 

“Something different, a unique name. Harry and Tom are such common names!” Tom exclaimed in disgust. “All we need is a brother named Dick and we’re a complete set!”

 

Harry closed his notebook. “Achemor is unique enough for me, thank you. This is because of that new kid, Tommy Kennedy, isn’t it?”

 

“So what if it is, Harry? We’re different from them, better than them. So why can’t our names be the same?” Tom was sitting up fully on his bed now, reaching for a sheet of paper hidden behind the corner of the bed. “Here, I came up with mine!”

 

T O M M A R V O L O R I D D L E

 

I A M L O R D V O L D E M O R T

 

Harry curled his lip, pushing down the instinctive rush of hatred at the name. “Vol de Mort. French. Flee from death?” They both heard Tom’s unspoken _I will not die. Not like mother did._

 

“It’s not her fault, Tom,” Harry said seriously.

 

“It doesn’t matter if it wasn’t her fault, Harry! She abandoned us! We didn’t even know who our father was!” Tom had screamed. The single shelf in their room began to rattle. The wind began to whip the branches of the trees outside. A small crack appeared on the corner of the window and began to spread.

 

Suddenly, they stilled. The sound of steady footsteps was heading to their room. Harry hurriedly stuffed his book in the slit he made in his mattress and kicked the colouring pencils underneath as well. Tom pressed his hand on the little crack and concentrated with all his might. It began raining outside.

 

The door opened, and Mrs Cole eyed them both suspiciously. They froze in fear, Harry kneeling on the ground and Tom almost standing on the bed. If she found the pencils that Harry had stolen from Harrison McGuire, or the books that Tom had taken, they would not eat for a week.

 

“What was that noise, Harry?” Mrs Cole addressed Harry directly, not even looking in Tom’s direction. The twins used to be her favourite, but Tom grew too _weird_ , and it was obvious that there was _something_ off about Harry.

 

Tom smiled charming smile #13, the one that convinced adults that there was nothing to worry about. “We were just playing, Mrs Cole.” He took his hand off the window.

 

(It was behind him, crack-free)

 

Mrs Cole did not relent. “I heard a scream.”

 

Harry looked guilty. “I’m so sorry, Mrs Cole. I bet Tom that he couldn’t act out a scene from a book that we were reading in class the other day.” He hunched his shoulders in, channelling all of his regretfulness.

 

“Acting or not, there are young children sleeping. Next, time, do it outside.” She turned around to leave, apparently satisfied that acting was all that there was to the scream. “Tom, get off the bed. ” With those last words, the door closed with a creak, and footsteps began heading away from their room and down the stairs. Tension left both their bodies as they settled back into their spots.

 

“I couldn’t really find one for you, Harry,” Tom said apologetically. “This is all I got. Maybe you can think of one?”

 

H A D R I A N A C H E M O R R I D D L E

 

I A M L O R D

 

HARNACHERIDE

 

Harry frowned as he stared at the paper, now slightly crumpled from when Tom had hurriedly stuffed it away. “If I ever did chose an alias for turning evil or something, I’d chose Achemor. If you literally pull the word apart, it's interesting. Old English, _acan_ , to be bad or evil.  _Mor_ from French, meaning death." Tom sighed impatiently, "You can't just use your own middle name!" "How about Achernar? The star." It’s derived from the star Achernar, you know. ” Harry glanced up at Tom, who was beginning to look disappointed. “Sorry I can’t make one like yours.”

 

Tom hummed thoughtfuly, “Well, there’s plenty of time to decide. For now, I like Achenar.”

 

…

 

Tom despised the feeling of powerlessness. He despised how even though he was so clearly superior to the other children in so many ways, how with practice and control he could utilize the mysterious power that was innate to him in dangerous ways, he was powerless at the hands of Dennis Bishop, Billy Stubbs, and Philip Daniels.He hated them, the inferior beings with no self-control and irritable emotions. All the orphans were weak, including the adults and matrons who attended to them. Tom knew he possessed a special, unexplained talent unique to him and Harry alone, and that made him euphoric.

 

At the age of eleven, Tom Riddle was viewed as a handsome child who would grow into an attractive adult, with his solemnly intelligent eyes and dark hair. He gave off an impression of shyness, always away in corners and reading large tomes. The orphans stayed out of his path and most of the adults were content seeing the introverted child.

 

Some saw through the thin veneer of civility. “The Devil’s spawn!” The maid who would clean the orphanage every Tuesday and Saturday had proclaimed to anyone willing to listen. “I heard that…that Tom hissing behind the bushes! Hissing like a snake! If you ask me, that behaviour should be beaten out of him!”

 

After overhearing, Tom grinned maliciously instead of feeling offended. She feared him and fear was good.

 

His brother was equally handsome, albeit if in a different way. His brilliantly green eyes unnerved some, though the crooked grin that he wore on his face balanced it out. He was always sitting on the branches of the old sycamore, or laughing with the younger children. He was a charming child, and the children loved him. Everyone could not understand how his twin was so drastically different from him. Harry had been adopted - three times, in fact, but the parents had always returned him for various reasons. Harry told Tom it was because in no way would he ever leave Tom.

 

The very same maid who hated Tom with a passion had seen Harry levitating various belongings around him sometime in mid-November.She had quit, but not before furiously warning Mrs Cole to get the Riddle twins exorcised before it was too late and everyone in the orphanage was dead.

 

Harry paid no mind to the maid’s warnings; Mrs Cole would grow increasingly suspicious, but she could not do anything drastic without any concrete evidence.

 

…

 

They were ten when they went exploring.

 

Once a year, on August 24th, there was a summer outing at Wool’s Orphanage. Mrs Cole would take all of the children out to the seaside, to a beach that had more rocks than sand. However, all the children were excited about swimming in the cool water and exploring the cliffs, which provided a wonderful view of the sea.

 

This year was no different.

 

The wind gently ruffled Tom’s hair, bringing with it the salty smell of the sea and the excited screams of the younger children. Harry reclined next to him, basking in the warm sun, a rarity that did not occur often at Wool’s. Suddenly, Tom had sat up, wincing slightly as his injuries from the last time he was subject to the orphanage’s cruelty made themselves known.

 

“We should go exploring.” Tom declared, “Come with me, Harry?”

 

“Where?” Harry asked, sitting up as well.

 

“The mountain, I know that there’s a cave on the top.” Tom grinned innocently, “We should take a few friends as well.”

 

Harry lifted an eyebrow, “ Do you already have our dearest Dennis in mind?”

 

Tom hummed noncommittally, “Perhaps Amy.”

 

 

Dennis and Amy were taking a walk on the little trail above the water, Amy giggling and holding onto Dennis’s arm. The wind blew the smell of salt up to them and ruffled the grass beside them. It was beautiful. Just as they rounded the corner, they saw the lone figure of a boy sitting on the ground.

 

As they drew near, the boy turned around to face them. Tom Riddle. He stood up and dusted himself off. All the while, Amy and Dennis dared not to move. They had experienced first hand what Tom could do, and it would do them no good to anger him.

 

Tom smiled, dark eyes flashing dangerously, “Are you enjoying your walk? It is a rather beautiful view. Would you like to see a better one though?”

 

Their thoughts slowed, and Dennis asked, rather stupidly, “Where?”

 

Tom wordlessly pointed to the steep cliffs rising above him as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. Amy pressed herself closer to Dennis and shivered, even though it was warm and the sun was shining.

 

“How will we get up there?” Amy gathered up her strength and managed to ask. Tom sighed in annoyance, then told them both to follow him. Tom grabbed onto a rope and scaled the cliffs as if he were made of air. Somehow, they both followed him, even though it was the last thing they wanted to do.

  

 

 

“Tom, what are we doing here?” Amy asked as the glazed expression on her face slowly faded away. Dennis struggled to his feet, trying to intimidate Tom into telling the truth. Well, he should have known it would never have worked.

 

“Shh.” Tom whispered, “I’m trying to talk.”

 

<Come to me> An eery hissing sound emerged from his mouth, and it seemed to echo in the dark cave. As Amy’s eyes widened, the darkness seemed more oppressing, and she shrank into a little alcove in the cave in an attempt to get away from him. She felt like she could see glinting yellow eyes in the back of the cave, and hear the whisper of scales across rough ground.Dennis seemed to be paralyzed. Amy’s confused eyes swept across his body several times…until she saw the body of a serpent coiled around Dennis’s waist, slowly winding it’s way up. She shrunk back further into the alcove, tears springing unbidden to her eyes - she was just _so afraid_.

 

Amy let loose a terrified shriek as someone whispered behind her, “Walk forwards, Amy.” Her body left her control as she felt one foot land in front of the other as her entire mind was protesting. Tears were cascading down now, and hiccuping sobs echoed throughout the cave.

 

“There's no need to be afraid.” The voice that Amy now knew was Harry’s whispered calmingly. A sense of betrayal rushed through her. Harry was her friend! Tom was always the freakish one! She walked forwards until she stood side by side with Dennis, with Tom standing in front of her and Harry somewhere in the darkness behind.

 

Suddenly, Dennis began to scream, clutching his head as if he were in pure agony. Amy felt the spell on her begin to lift. She rushed forwards to kneel beside Dennis, trying to help but not knowing how. Amy looked around wildly for Harry, the only semi-familiar face. “Please, Harry, you’re scaring me. Stop it, I’m begging you.”

 

Harry seemed darkly amused but nodded obligingly. With a wave of his hand, Dennis fell back, panting, almost braining himself on the ground before Amy rushed forwards to catch him. Faintly displeased, Tom frowned at Harry. She shoved Dennis behind her, away from the two maniacs. Tom was a complete psycho, she had always known that, but maybe there was still some hope for Harry. Dennis was whimpering softly now, the stench of urine wafting up. He lay on the ground, too exhausted to move. Long scratches from his own fingernails ran up both arms and on his face.

 

“Pathetic.” Tom scoffed, voice booming in the dark cave. Suddenly, there was light, and Amy turned to see a flicker of flame on the centre of Harry’s palm. As he tilted his palm, the flame slid into his other hand. It did not seem to be touching Harry, merely floating above the actual palm.

 

“Just wanted to provide some light. After all, it is dark.” Harry offered innocently. He circled around Amy, fire flickering…then pulled out the ribbon tying her hair back and pocketed it. Harry then knelt next to Dennis, who shied away from the light, and went through his pockets to withdraw a yo-yo. That, too, went into his pocket. “Some souvenirs, Tom. This is a memorable occasion.”

 

Tom hummed and stepped in front of Amy, who held her breath in terror. Slowly, she began to kneel, bending under the weight of an unseen hand. Her hands scraped against the rough stone, sluggishly bleeding as she tried to hold herself up.

 

“Well, this experiment has been a success!” Harry clapped his hands together suddenly, and the invisible weight disappeared. “Just one more step, and then it’s all over, Amy.” Tom leaned against the wall, the snake that had been on Dennis now draped across his shoulders.

 

Harry knelt, looking at the wounds that were beginning to clot on Dennis’s body. “So inconvenient, Dennis. You couldn’t have chosen any other place to injure yourself?” He concentrated, and the wounds began closing until they were only sliver lines on Dennis Bishop’s skin. Dennis had fallen unconscious, eyes scrunched tight from the pain.

 

Tom frowned, “Why’d you do that? He should suffer!” Harry rolled his eyes and turned to his brother. “Tom, think. We were missing alone with those two. “ Harry gestured at Amy and Dennis. “Then, we return to an already suspicious Mrs Cole, with us perfectly fine but Dennis looking like a bear mauled him. We don’t want her to finally call an exorcist. We managed ten years without that nuisance.” Tom didn’t look happy but nodded his agreement.

 

“That was magic, wasn’t it!” Amy couldn’t hold back any longer and burst out. Two heads swivelled towards her in eery synchrony. “Yes, perhaps it is _magic…_ ” Tom murmured thoughtfully, before visibly shaking himself out of his train of thought. “Harry, would you do the honours?”

 

Harry nodded and turned to her friend. “Dennis, wake up.” He said softly. Dennis woke up. “Amy, climb down with Dennis. Go into the ocean, and wash yourselves. Then, go back to the meeting spot.” Amy nodded as her eyes glazed over, and Dennis began to stand up. “Oh, and forget this ever happened,” Tom added.

 

…

 

As soon as Tom and Harry were near the spot that the children were supposed to meet up, Mrs Cole rushed towards them, her face pinched and worried. “We’ve been searching for you both! Where’s Amy and Dennis?” She shrieked sharply. Harry stepped forwards, concern in his eyes. “I don’t know where they are, Mrs Cole. I went to find Tom, but I didn’t see Amy or Dennis. ”

 

Just then, Amy and Dennis, dripping wet, came forwards from the bushes. Mrs Cole rushed forwards and questioned them harshly, “Where were you?” They shivered, eyes wide and face pale. “We were exploring th…the cave in the cliff.”

 

“By yourself?” Mrs Cole demanded, highly concerned. 

 

“Nno,” Amy glanced fearfully at Tom, who was watching the procession with interest. “We were with Tom.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for putting up with me. Dumbledore's in the next chapter!

**Author's Note:**

> Harry's middle name Achemor is derived from the star Achemar, of the constellation Eridanus. It literally means "end of the river" which I thought poetic.
> 
> Some might say "Harry isn't a Black why did you name him after a star?" But Merope is actually a star from the constellation Pleadies, and actually means either eloquent. So I figured why not make her son a star too? (Plus I need a middle name with an M in it to form "I am Lord ..." and I'm not willing to name him after Morfin)
> 
> I'm so sorry for rambling, but I hope you enjoyed it!


End file.
